The Day They Buried Their Luna

A New Partner

Lysara’s pov

A second explosion rocked the dungeon, this one this time closer, close enough to make the floor underneath me shake. In panic, guards ran off their posts, shouting out instructions to each other to get to the surface, holding weapons in their hands, leaving the cells unguarded.

"What's happening?" I shouted but no one responded me, I was holding the bars of my cell. Seris had already fled back down the corridor, clutching her stomach, screaming for someone to protect her.

Before I could even begin to make sense of all the confusion, my own cell door was ripped open and the metal groaned against whatever force had distorted the lock.

The figure came through the smoke, masked, dressed in black, moving with a precision no accident could have confuted that this was no random assault. This was planned.

"Who are you?" I managed, my voice hoarse, my body weak from childbirth and grief. "What do you want?"

The figure didn't answer. Rather, gloved hands gripped my arm and pulled me up before I could react.

I gasped "Wait" as he dragged me along. "Where you going to take me?"

Still no answer. I attempted a twist, but that strength I had had hours ago had left me, and what was left drained even more with every step through the blazing corridors. Torches were knocked off the walls and the flames danced at the walls of fire. The animals who had been guarding the children were strewn about on the ground—some dead, some crawling to safety, groaning. I was dragged through each falling down hall, smoke stinging my eyes and choking my throat.

I weakly said, “Please, tell me what is happening?”

Finally, the masked man looked down at me, but I could not see what was behind the mask. “Please shut up.”

I wanted to ask more questions but the calm in his voice made me keep quiet.

I felt a cold, sharp slap of night air on my face as I left the smoky dungeon. I glimpsed trees scooting by, the darkened outline of horses, the indistinct sound of voices in urgent clipped tones.

I was at my wits end.

I can only recall the feeling of being lifted onto something soft, the flowing movement of a horse under me, and then it was all black.

—

I opened my eyes again and I was no longer in the dungeon.

Soft candlelight played across new, high, vaulted stone walls, with symbols I didn't recognise. I was in a bed much larger than anything I remembered even when I was a little girl, the blankets soft against my skin, still feeling the pain of all the things my body had experienced.

I just looked up at the ceiling and tried to remember where I was, how I got here, what happened to the dungeon, what happened to Seris, the fire and the screaming.

Then the door opened up.

I sat up too fast, and felt the pain lancing through me, my eyes darted to the stranger who was stepping into the room. He was tall, dark, and wore black clothes, exuding an intimidating aura that made me feel small.

"Who are you?" I demanded, and pulled the blanket around myself tighter. "Where am I?"

“You don't have to worry," he said in a low tone, "you're safe.”

“That's not an answer.” I pushed myself up, past the pain in my body. "Am I a prisoner? Does this seem like what this is? Switched from one cell to another?”

“I don't need any prisoners," he replied. “If you think in terms of slaves, there's no need for that either.”

“So, what is it that you need?” I asked. “Because clear you needed it so much that you had to set fire to half a dungeon for it.”

He seemed to have a slight glint of amusement on his face, but it passed before it could show itself. “ Vaelric Nocthar.”

The name was like a weight that fell on me. That was a name known to every pack, to every kingdom throughout the continent, and was spoken in hushed, wary tones. The Lycan King. The only ruler that Alphas feared.

I gasped but immediately tried to hide my fear. "Why would you have any interest in me?"

“Lysara ,” he said. "Lysara Ashwyn, former Luna of Silvercrest, condemned for the killing of Elowen Draven, sentenced to hang at sunrise, interrupted by my warriors.”

“Then you know I'm a criminal," I said in a bitter tone.

“Pronounced guilty based on the words of her best friend,” he said ignoring me. “No fair trial… no evidence.”

“How come all this is important to you?” I asked. “So what do you need with the fallen Luna, the world's enemy?”

Then he looked at me for a long time and replied. “I'd like to give you an option.”

“An option,” I repeated gruffly.

“You can go away," he replied. “Go to a new pack always scared of getting caught, or help me to destroy all those who brought this upon you.”

"Destroy them how?" I asked.

“You would be working with me,” he said. “ Give me intel from inside that old pack and help me expose that corruption festering in that council; in exchange, I'll protect you, provide you with resources, and eventually provide you with justice you deserve.”

His face was so calm, and I was looking at him with disbelief in my heart. “You want me to be a traitor to my own kind?

He corrected me, saying, "your own kind threw you in a dungeon based on the words of the mouth.”

I shook my head, "I won't do it. They're my pack, whatever they've done, whatever they think of me, that pack is still my pack. I won't be a traitor to them for revenge, for anything.”

Vaelric didn't argue. “ He walked to the table next to me and picked a plate. “As a healer…I’m sure you are familiar with the tarrowbane root"?

“Yes…it’s used to induce labor, it is dangerous and unpredictable, any healer worth her training knows better than to use it unless it is absolutely necessary.” I replied.

“You are the dumbest smart person.” He said.

“What do you mean?” I hissed.

“You were fed a tainted meal, forced into labor and your child…killed!” He said, slowly as he let each of his words sink in.